


Does It Count As Getting Laid

by sandpapersnowman



Category: Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Dubious Consent, Forced Masturbation, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 11:15:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3065804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandpapersnowman/pseuds/sandpapersnowman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack has been relatively quiet all day, which worries him. Usually, he never shuts up, whether it's making fun of however Rhys is handling a situation or making fun of Rhys in general.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Does It Count As Getting Laid

**Author's Note:**

> written for the lovely [tally](http://kohomint.tumblr.com/), and mirrored on tumblr [here!](http://illegalcockbiting.tumblr.com/post/106665844442/does-it-count-as-getting-laid)
> 
> 3/18/15 edit: yall can thank me for this fic being entirely possible in the tftbl canon. you're welcome.

Jack has been relatively quiet all day, which worries him. Usually, he never shuts up, whether it's making fun of however Rhys is handling a situation or making fun of Rhys in general.

He figures Jack is just sealed away plotting somewhere, maybe planning the next time he makes Rhys think he's tripping over something to embarrass him in front of everyone.

So, he also figures he's safe in the dark to slowly push his hand down his pants and rub himself through his Hyperion issued boxer briefs.

He's wrong.

"Really, kiddo?" Rhys jumps at Jack's voice in his head. "We're sharing a room, here."

Rhys pulls his hand out of his pants as quickly as possible.

"Well, hey, I didn't mean you had to stop," Jack purrs, and Rhys feels his hand go back down his pants.

He really wishes this guy would fuck off out of his head.

"Look at that, we're already getting hard," he laughs, making Rhys's hand grip himself and tug.

"Stop it," Rhys mutters. It's halfhearted and more of a weak sigh, honestly, but he tries to fight Jack's control nonetheless.

"Oh, c'mon, you had a long day." Jack makes him pull his dick out into the air of the warm Pandoran night, his thumb stroking idly over the head. "Besides, it's not like anyone else will be touching this any time soon," Jack laughs.

"Fuck off," Rhys sighs, still trying to fight Jack's hold on him but not having much luck.

"Please, you know I can see everything in here, right? When was the last time you got laid?"

Jack takes his prosthetic arm now too, forcing the palm up under his chin and keeping his head cocked back awkwardly.

"On that note, when was the last time you had some real fun?" Jack asks, an edge forming in his tone that Rhys is instantly wary of.

His metal hand grabs his jaw, the index finger forcing its way between his lips and prying his jaw open. His heavy breathing is much more obvious when his mouth is open, and while he'd hate to admit it, having the weight of something in his mouth sends a little thrill down his spine.

"You don't have to admit it, pumpkin, I'm right here," Jack reminds him. Rhys tries to jerk away from his prosthetic hand in spite, but can't manage to.

"Oh, come _on_ , champ, it's just you. And, by extension, me." Jack's got him stroking himself again, slow and hardly doing anything for him but getting him harder.

He hates Jack even more for this, he thinks.

"You're no fun," Jack pouts, forcing another one of the metal fingers further into his mouth and pressing his tongue down with them. His organic hand squeezes his cock a little harder and Rhys groans, the noise louder from his open mouth than he'd have liked.

Rhys wants to tell him to stop it, to get out of his head and give him back control over his own body, but he's squirming because it's like being touched by someone else, and he almost wants to give in.

"See, you're enjoying this, pumpkin."

 _Almost_ , Rhys mentally repeats; he wouldn't give Jack the satisfaction.

He feels some drool drip from the corner of his mouth but his fingers won't let his tongue move to catch it, and it slides down his skin uncomfortably.

Jack moves his organic hand away from his cock, instead moving it to rub the inside of one of his thighs.

"You want it enough to beg for it yet?"

Rhys presses his hips up toward his hand, but refuses to answer.

His fingers stray, rubbing instead where his thigh meets his groin but not quite touching his cock again. His metal fingers push further in his mouth, and he gags when they go too far.

Rhys can feel Jack imagining what things would be like if he had a body right now, and he could almost swear he feels two phantom hands on him, holding him at his hips and digging their fingers in, and while he doesn’t get the pressure he wants from jerking his hips up, he does get the illusion of warm breath on his neck.

“I would have had so much fun with you,” Jack rumbles in his head, and Rhys’s dick twitches at the idea of it.

Rhys wants to taunt him, to fight back; ask Jack what he would have done to him, ask if he really thinks Rhys would have been so easy; he thinks it, as though whispering back just as confidently as Jack.

Jack laughs.

He shoves a third metal finger into Rhys’s mouth, and as uncomfortable as it is, he feels his skin flush harder with the extra width (and if he’s being honest, the drooling gets a little worse, too, spurred by the extra weight and the brief idea of Jack’s own fingers in his mouth).

He finally brings Rhys’s organic hand to the base of his cock. It’s a firm squeeze that mostly just makes Rhys that much more desperate for it.

“I can’t imagine what I could have gotten you to do with my real hands,” he purrs, bringing back the illusion of his mouth at Rhys’s ear. “You look like you’d be so easy to bend over, or push down onto your knees--”

Rhys pushes his hips up again at the image of himself at Jack’s feet, fingers in his hair pulling him forward and his organic hand carefully pulling out Jack’s cock for him.

“Well, then, would you have liked that?” Jack teases, gloating in the reaction he’s gotten from Rhys. He moves Rhys’s metal fingers in his mouth a little, pulling them out just a little so he can push them back in further, and Rhys shudders.

Jack squeezes Rhys’s cock again.

“What was that?”

Rhys is past the point of being able to focus his thoughts into a clear ‘yes’, so instead all Jack gets is faint nodding and a mental bombardment of everything that could possibly be translated to resemble a ‘yes’.

“Look at you,” Jack praises. “You think you could have taken the whole thing, pumpkin?”

Rhys turns his head as much as he can to try to get his metal fingers further in his mouth as a ‘yes’.

Jack obliges, pressing the fingers in further. Rhys gags, but stays there.

“Wouldn’t you have looked good choking,” he sighs, mostly to himself.

All that’s in Rhys’s head is begging now, thoughts of finishing himself off with barely more than a squeeze or two and getting to cum.

“Ready to ask nicely, kitten?”

Rhys nods, and the mental pleading gets louder and more rushed and jumbled.

Jack takes the metal fingers out of Rhys’s mouth and instead moves his hand to his throat, grabbing tightly enough to affect his breathing, but not enough to render him silent.

“Out loud, sweetheart, cut the thinking crap.”

Rhys shuts his mouth tightly, biting his lip as Jack returns his organic hand to his cock. He doesn’t say anything, opting to go back to trying to be as quiet as possible, and Jack tightens the fingers around his neck.

“We’re going to be here until you start with the ‘pretty please’s, kiddo, I mean it.”

Rhys swallows. Someone could hear him.

“No shit.” His metal fingers clench threateningly.

“Please,” Rhys finally spits out.

Jack just laughs.

“You’ll have to do better than that, sweetheart.” His fingers are loose around his cock, and all the friction he’s getting is doing barely anything more than tickle. “You’re going to beg until your voice is raw, understand?”

“ _Please_ ,” he says again, just a little louder. He doesn’t know what else Jack wants to hear.

“Tell me you want to cum.”

“I want to cum,” Rhys repeats.

“A little sweeter, please.”

“ _Please_ , I want to cum, J--”

The metal fingers cut him off.

“‘Sir’, not ‘Jack’,” his voice corrects.

“ _Sir_ ,” Rhys repeats.

“‘Sir’ what?”

Rhys makes a single harsh sob before he shuts his eyes.

“I want to cum, sir,” he says, shaky and louder than before. “Please, _please_ , you _asshole_.”

His hand starts actually moving, and all the tension in his body triples as he finally gets what he needs.

He only thinks his ‘thank you’s, but Jack knows how pathetic and embarrassed he feels anyway, so he shows the slightest bit of mercy and keeps going.

Rhys keeps chanting ‘please’, over and over as he thrusts his hips up desperately, no rhythm to it and no real control over it.

“You about to cum, pumpkin?”

Rhys groans again and doesn’t even bother trying to get away with being silent.

“I’m gonna cum,” he confirms weakly. It’s gonna end up all over his shirt, most likely, but he doesn’t care.

He’s not totally sure if he manages to say he’s about to cum again just before he actually does; between the lightheadedness from his metal fingers on his throat and the blissful, coiling heat building between his legs, all he knows when he cums is that everything is blindingly, horribly, insanely good.

He thinks he might have even blacked out a little. He probably did, honestly, since the next thing he’s aware of is him sucking on his own fingers.

He nearly gags when he realizes Jack is making him lick his own cum clean, but he can’t pull away when he’s this weak and out of it. So he licks his fingers clean, all of them, and tries not to gag too much when his hand swipes up his stomach and brings even more to his mouth.

He doesn’t try to pull away, just gives in. It’s odd to run his tongue over his own fingers and feel it on both ends, but not be controlling either one. It’s like his body isn’t even his, just a new vessel for this dead asshole, but he feels much less panic over it than he probably should.

Jack even tucks his dick back into his pants for him before he drops Rhys, exhausted and sweaty and warm, limply back into control of his own body, and lets him pass out.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> did you know you can find me on [tumblr](http://sandpapersnowman.tumblr.com/ao3direct)? : O


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